Instead, he opened his jeans and hauled his cock out.

The radio was playing softly and Joanne had seen his prick in the pale illumination from the dial. It was a big prick, fat and long and hard and shapely. The cockhead was a big, flaring, purple mushroom and the dark vein bulged on the underside of the cockshaft.

As she gazed at his prick, Joanne felt her hands begin to itch for a touch. In fact, she felt her tongue begin to tingle, as well, but that was one of those things she tried to deny to herself. She had never sucked a cock, and she would not admit that she wanted to.

Then he had demanded a hand-job.

She hadn't resisted very hard or very long.

She had felt it was necessary and justifiable. "Oh, all right – if I must," she said, sounding indifferent about it even as she thrilled to the prospect.

Johnny leaned back against the door, his legs thrust out, one for braced against the firewall. His eyes glinted. His white teeth gleamed in a wolfish grin. His prick pounded, swelling and throbbing. Joanne touched his cock tentatively at first, drawing her hand back as if she had touched a hot poker. Then she folded her fist around his cockstalk and began to stroke up and down.

"Yeah! Oh, yeah!" he groaned with pleasure.

Joanne leaned right over him. She was fascinated as she watched her hand on his prick. She felt his cock get bigger and bigger and harder and harder as she pumped him towards the peak.

She leaned closer and closer, until her face was right over his prick. She wished that he had demanded a blow-job, instead of a handjob. She was too shy to do it on her own initiative, but if he had made her do it – well, that would have been a different matter. She leaned right down over his cock, hoping that he would take the hint – that he would place his hand behind her head and push her face down onto his prick.